There are words that blur on these pages
There are fears that begin, and burn in your mind.
Tears that burst during
rages..
cries that escape from
inside.

Hours wasted, staring out the car window
Music streaming into your head

Eyes open, glossy and glazed overr
Body stiff and limp, then
dead.

These conclusions that you come to
so profound, and, maybe,
true..

are your dream, your idol, and ambition

they consume and empower ;you.

So as they eat you alive –
shred, and chew you into pieces
record every detail..

for as long as your mind can reason.

Take pictures on this journey
and before all doors and windows have closed –
throw up this dream catcher,
let them have it,
let it go.
–Aun Aqui

[ I’m dying for this,
I’m dying, essentially, for you
but I love this..

so I’m dying, really,
for me. ]

The day before, (yesterday) – 2 days ago, 2 days have passed.

Recorded in the “real thing” **

In a hot parking lot. Waiting for Stanford, Cara and Jan to show up.. it’s 5:30 and we were supposed to meet here for our “ministry supplies.” I just find it funny; how adults stress the importance of punctuality, and.. well, yes.

Anyways. Today has been nice. I want to get my haircut before Chris arrives (Friday): layered, trimmed and thinned. Found the right hairstyle.. just need to locate a WHITE hair salon and find out how I’m going to get there.

I was walking around in Building C for the past 45 minutes. Exploring. Getting lost in the crowd.. smiling with those who smiled, noticing the sad, lonely and careworn. How my heart longed to hold and cry with each and every soul.. to bring them, emotionally, mentally, to the point of

realizing their humanity..
their “higher calling”..
it’s so much more than it sounds.

My heart just breaks for this world, and everything in it; not just everyone. I’m realizing..
I’m carrying the burden of sin —
the burden Christ bore.
Oh, although it be weighty, how light it truly is: your biggest concern resting upon something, someone, anything other than yourself.
I again walked over to the 3ABN corner. Shelley Quinn wasn’t filming; she was signing books. I caught her eyes two or three times.. and she smiled, warmly, deeply, at me. I felt like a common person, pressing with the crowds towards Christ. It wasn’t my turn..
and there just wasn’t much time. I reached my hand out far enough to secure a little slip of paper, with her name, picture, and title of her new book on it. The last time I looked over at her, she was still smiling at me.. understandingly.. and tears began to well up in my eyes. I wasn’t sure why.

It’s not like I have any personal, meaningful relationship with this woman.. have I subconsciously – recently or long ago – placed some sort of emotional significance upon her? I’ve hardly read two of her books, and although I perceive that she’s an amazing writer and educated individual, I’ve never been a big fan. I’ve met her two or three times.. but,..

I turned and walked away, again bccoming lost in the sea of faces, but this time, my gaze was inward.

“Why do I feel this way, see this way, think this way? Why must I take everything so seriously.. carry everyone’s burden as faithfully as I would my own?” A man was wheeling himself along beside me. I glanced over and he said, “I’m just walking next to you.”

He was old and in a wheelchair and.. made me smile. “Cool,” I said. “And how are you today?”

“Oh, hanging in there,” he said, smiling with both his lips and voice. We parted ways as I headed towards the escalator with “the rest” of the crowd. I wondered, where do people like HIM.. people with his condition, or in his circumstances, go? The elevator? I never think about those things. And it isn’t an “alternative” lifestyle; no, that would be silly, to judge all else by my unique experience. No, I’m not living what is called THE “normal” life.. I’m just living my life, he is living his,
and they are living theirs.

As I moved along, a man was singing on the right side of the walkway. His name is Michael Harris. He stood there, in the middle of an empty circle, which the crowd had shaped itself around, holding a mic and wearing a grey suit. He sang.. passionately, dramatically, in deep voice.. bending this way and that, stretching his hands forward, pulling them back, lifting his head, (as if looking heavenward), and staring at the ground. The mic was near his lips and then slowly drawn away, only to return, quickly. The crowd was captivated, viewing him from either the human lens or the man-made. I don’t know which fascinated them more: hearing him perform — listening to the words and feeling “moved” by the Lord — or the fact that they were filming. The zooming in and out of the camera, it’s flashing lights, buzzy sound, and the distinguished look of black and silver machinery.

Why do cameras always exaggerate the importance of people, places and things? Dont they?
Or is it the people, places and things that make beautiful and important the cameras?

I believe it’s both. They feed off of eachother, like.. celebrities and the paparazzi. One can’t exist without the other, really.

I, personally, admit that I love cameras. Not for their shape, color or warranty.. for their capability. And that is why God loves us.

Not because we’re beautiful, talented, educated, sinful or holy..
but because we were made to LOVE and to be loved. He sees the potential in us as companions.

Anyways.. I’m still sitting here. It’s now 5:55 pm.

(Close)

So today is July 1st. WOW! I justttt realized that. Happy July! Haha.. yesterday was Melissa’s birthday (ex-best friend. yes, ex, not former.. exxxx. it ended terribly). I.. did send her a “happy birthday, I’m thinking of you, praying for you, yes, I really haven’t forgotten about you” email, after a long month of silence.. and, it wasn’t responded to. That wasn’t really a surprise, I figured it would catch her off guard, make her MAD, happy, sad, then angry, whatever.. but what DID.. I don’t know, catch ME off guard alittle was that she blocked me.

Well, darling, if that’s the way you want things, I am not going to fight it. I’m perfectly content in my small world; it’s all about what you want and need. That’s why I’m alive:

to make you happy.
To make you, you, and YOU happy – as far as possible.

I got my hair cut today.. was lucky; Atlanta is just FILLED to the brim with black hair salons and the people I’m staying with (South American/ Jamaican/ African American/ French/ Filipino people) doubted I’d be able to find a person who knew how to deal with ‘white hair.’ This place, two minutes down the road, had a lady. She layered the front, gave me some side bangs, and trimmed my splitted ends. 🙂 Yes, splitted. I like the way it just stands on it’s own, that word. Very full of force, very clear, plain, strong.

I’m not crazy about the outcome, but. Change is change, it’s different, it should be appreciated and valued, albeit minimally and in a not-so-ecstatic, way.

We’re going to hike a mountain later.. which I just find delicious. I have, stomach painn, today. Of all days, of all days. 🙂 Might just “skip out,” as much as I would usually LOVE being a part of such an outting.

Yesterday was interesting. Spent the morning and afternoon with the brethren over at the house they’re renting. We had a late lunch and Bible discussion regarding Joel 2. Passed out literature afterwards and upon walking the streets, I was drawn by the sound to a music festival, concert, in a park-like area. It was jazzy, soulful, and there were hundreds of people, laying on towels, sitting in fold-out chairs.. out of their seats, dancing, laughing, carrying on. It was interesting; I smiled. Jan stood behind me, observing. I found a place to stand very near the stage.. and, didn’t take any pictures. I figured, something like this is just..

something I’ll have to remember,
all by myself.

The drummer was so intense, so exhausted, pushing himself WAY too hard. It was precious.. impressive. The man with the trumpet, or whatever it was (quite certain it was the named instrument), was obviously the leader. The main man. He was good.. I imagined that if he had been white, his face would have been beet red. You’ve got some strong lungs, partner.

“Nobody said it was easy.. it’s such a shame for us to part.
Nobody said it was easy.. no one ever said it would be this hard.” -Coldplay.

And this, goes along nicely with that. It’s a quote on my friend, Andaid’s, FB page:

“I know they say the first love is the sweetest, but that first cut is the deepest”

Statements like these make sense, the longer you live, the more you go through and “experience.”

Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.
– Leo Buscaglia

**

Today, is Friday. I’m totally finishing this ridiculously long and insignificant blog entry; ready to move past it.
Christopher is going to be here..
in 2 hours.

I am so happy,
excited,
nervous
and nauseated.
My nerves always get the best of me..
in pleasant situations and terrifying ones. 🙂

This alwaysss used to happen on the first day of school:
I couldn’t sleep the night before, would have strangeee, weird dreams when I WAS able to, and woke with a sense of sickness and dread.. although I loved school. It was just, somehow, stressful?

Anyways.

I’ve had worship with the group, taken my shower, and eaten a small piece of cantaloupe. Didn’t want to eat anything at all, but, everyone seemed concerned. I didn’t really have dinner last night.

Last night;.. yesterday.

Well, it was an interesting day. I got my hair cut in the morning, that’s already been established.. in the EVENING, when a bunch of people were here (20+) visiting, a group of us (all teens) sat in a circle and sang songs. I played on Charlie.. looked up the chords for whatever song selection they had that I wasn’t familiar with.. and we had a good time.

It was great.

We went to a “mansion” later on, for a big “get-together” hosted by Stanford’s sister, Pam. The house was gorgeous.. a “vacation home,” occupied a couple weeks out of the year. There was food, laughing, music, singing, talking, chatting, sitting, standing.. the usual “party” stuff. Tresur (pronounced Trea-sure) and I serenaded a group of ladies, who were sitting at a round table. The sofa gang and standing crew also listened and enjoyed it; afew sang along.. but we were mostly just the ‘quiet buzz in the background.’
A little boy named.. well, I won’t disclose the name.
Hang on, let me rewind.

On the drive there, I was sitting in the backseat with a 5 year old.. a youngster. He was playing his video game, sharing with me the report of his successes and failures. His resilience and determination to win was impressive; he completely epitomized the statement “If at first you don’t succeed, try try again – until you do.” I find it interesting, that, when “we” are young, we’re so.. full of ambition and hope and.. strong desire. Then, when we get older, if it doesn’t come naturally..
I dont know, you tell me. Do we pursue it as strongly? Or do we lose that DRIVE?

Anyways. I asked him if I could have a turn.. not so much because I wanted to play, as for the reason that – I was curious to see if he had it in him to share. 🙂 He did. I asked and he said I could try “in a minute..” I waited patiently and didn’t say another thing about it. He, faithful to his word, handed it to me, but a moment later, and I smiled, praising his generosity.

Afew minutes later, he was hungry, and kept telling his mom that he was (she was sitting in the 2nd row of seats). She repeatedly told him “No, wait..” and eventually, I don’t know what exactly had preceded this, I looked over and he was crying. He wasn’t whimpering or whining, just, crying quietly.. breathing convulsively.. the saddest look on his face. I just stared, surprised, and then I watched in absolute shock and silence as she, the mother, turned herself around to face him, reached her hand out and

slapped him across the face, demanding “now you STOP that!”

and then she turned back around and carried on with the adults.

I was devastated.
I was mortified, horrified, angry, full of pity and broken-hearted.

This was the little boy who had been following me around all day,- watching me play the guitar, listening to me sing.. holding, clutching a green, Rock Steady guitar pick in his hands because it made him feel special and trusted. This was the little boy who traced my veins and pulled my arm hairs. This was the little boy who had handed me a leaf, which I put into my pocket; who turned and overturned one like it in his hand, remarking how soft it was, how fuzzy, how spirally. He was observant and sweet. He would smile at me, when our eyes met. We were walking the day before and he had just reached up and softly put his hand into mine. He was so trusting, so innocent,
so worthy of love.

I tried not to, I tried so hard, but I simply couldn’t withhold my tears. I began crying, with him, and tried to do so softly. This poor little boy just sat there, stunned, completely still, tears continuing to pour out of his soft, brown eyes. I reached my hand over and rubbed his shoulder.. wiped the tears from his cheek.. held his hand. I talked softly to him, cooing “it’s okay, shhhh,” over and over. I drew his hand close to my lips and kissed it. I thought, if this was MY little boy, I would take him in my arms and tell him “I will NEVER let ANY one do this to you again.”

Listen, ladies.
I’m pretty ticked.

I FULLY realize, it’s your RESPONSIBILTY, as a mother, to DISCIPLINE your children.

However, WHAT THE HECK do you think you’re DOING, slapping them across the FACE?
Are you INSANE?

That’s totally wrong. I know I sound irrational and full-of-attitude, but guess what,
I’m very upset.

There are ways of disciplining in a correct, proper, effective sort of way..
but NONE of those ways include smacking an individual, especially an INFANT, across the face. That is entirely inappropriate, it’s damaging, it’s almost abusive.

And when you discipline, TELL me: are you angry? Because if so, your child can SENSE it and they will not respect that, they will not learn from it, they will not change their ways, they will not love you or trust you more: they will only FEAR you and grow to believe that, the solution to problems, the satisfaction of anger,

is in violence.

Just, calm down.
Read a book, a good one.

Say a prayer before you go correcting your child; do it in the right spirit, and in the RIGHT way.

Thank you.

So we arrived at the place, my face was all red, I tried to act “normal..” watched little (unnamed) step down out of the car and begin walking towards the house.
He was still crying.

She spoke coldly, sharply at him. I thought to myself..
I realize, he’s whiny; he’s a 5 year old who didn’t get his way. Yeah, he’s being a little bratty.
But can you atleast reassure him that you LOVE him? Maybe that,
is what is troubling and DISTRESSING him at this point.

So, back to where we were..
the party..
the little boy walked over to me, maybe 20 minutes after arriving,
CRYING, still.
I put my arms around him and spoke softly to him, encouraging him to tell me all that was bothering him, making him sad or scared. He cried just the way I used to:
he cried until he couldn’t breathe, and took quick, deep gasps of air. I tried to soothe him, told him to calm down, that everything was okay; if he was hungry, there were things here that he could eat.. and eventually he told me that he was tired. So, I led him over to the couch and asked a gentleman to move over slightly, that the young one might rest. Later on he got up and lost his spot, so, I took him over to a quieter part of the livingroom and instructed him how to lay down on the carpet floor, placing a pillow before him for him to lay his head on.

I came and sat back down with my teenager girlfriends. One of them, Rizel, commented on how “nice” and “friendly” I was.

“Praise the Lord,” I returned and smiled.

I enjoyed talking with everyone that evening.. the young people, the older faces of humanity..
it was interesting..
but, I didn’t feel completely at rest.

It just wasn’t a very christian-like atmosphere, atlhough it was “supposedly” a christian gathering. The people laughed, and jested.. and I do believe my young friends and I talked more of religion and Christ than the other 20 attendees.

We then drove, around 10:30 PM, to a local SDA church that was holding a “Carribean Feast” until midnight. I didn’t feel extremely “up to it,” but, knew that with Chris arriving today, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at home until I was fully exhausted, so, I put on a smile and rode with them. I didn’t really have a choice; we were 20 minutes from Pam’s and I didn’t have control of the car.

The “Carribean Feast” was a cute name for a GC fundraiser. There were boothes, selling random “souvenirs” and knick knacks, unhealthy snacks and fruit smoothies, cookies, cake and the like. It wasn’t very Adventist. I don’t know, maybe I’m just silly and legalistic. 🙂 It just seemed very worldly, and peculiar.. music blaring from loudspeakers, visitors dressed in immodest apparel, the dark sky,.. just strange.

I stole away by myself, to the actual church. Most of the lights were out, and two doors were locked. I went to the back and found an entrance was open. I tiptoed inside and opened the door to the sanctuary. A man was standing in the back, by the audio system. I greeted him and asked if it would be permissible for me to play the piano. He didn’t object, and really didn’t seem to mind or care at all, so I helped myself.

It was lovely. The best part of the night, aside from holding my little friend’s hand in his time of despair.

I came back outside and found that ‘everyone was looking for me.’ I hadn’t realized they intended leaving before 12 am. It was 11:33.

We sat on the curb for awhile, waiting for the “Hardee Girls” to finish their lollygagging. Pam, who sat next to me, said something very profound. It made me smile and.. although her intention was but for silliness, I found a lot of meaning in her words. I’ll close with them, for they were these:

How was the Creation seminar?
Wasn’t able to make it that Thursday evening, no ride, my apologies! I hope you enjoyed it..
and yes, the GC was a very positive experience.. eye opening, it was a time for character building and
the drawing into a closer union with Christ. It was pretty interesting, impressive, impactful, being surrounded
by so many believers..

How are you? Did you get back home safely.. some state that starts with an M, right?
God bless and be with you always, friend! and thanks for reading the blog entry. 🙂 -Rose